


Carry on, Doctor

by MezzaMorta



Series: Quartet [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Consensual Kink, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Medical Kink, Multi, Phone Call, verbal kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 08:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14589288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MezzaMorta/pseuds/MezzaMorta
Summary: Mycroft calls the doctor for his poorly little brother.Same universe as my other foursome stories. Just a whim.





	Carry on, Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> Mediplay not generally my thing. This is probably as close as I'll get to writing it. Nothing you haven't read before. :)

Thursdays were the end of the working week for Dr John Watson. This Thursday was much like any other. Mostly uneventful. Mostly standard appointments. Tonsillitis, UTIs, the odd more complex case to refer to specialist hospital units. Many more trivial concerns - coughing children and prescription adjustments. Nevertheless, by 4pm, John was exhausted, grumpy, and desperate to get home.

At 4.39pm, he was about to press the 'next patient' call button, when his phone rang. A withheld number. He considered ignoring it. _Probably just a spam call_. But something told him to pick up - and that thing was a well-honed instinct brought about by experience.

“Hello?”

“Dr Watson?” came a well-bred voice at the other end.

John grinned.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I hope I haven’t called at an inconvenient time.”

“Not at all, I’m off shift in half an hour. Who am I speaking to? Sorry – to whom am I speaking? Always getting told off for my grammar.” _By you, mostly._

“My name is Mycroft Holmes - that’s M-Y-C-R-O-F-T H-O-L-M-E-S. You don’t know me, but my brother is a patient of yours, if it’s ever accurate to call him that. Sherlock is his name. Please, don’t laugh, our parents were cruel. I’m telephoning on his behalf, actually. I’m rather concerned.”

John compressed his lips, attempting not to snort a laugh.

“Oh, yes? Is there something wrong with him?”

“I’ve been asking myself that for the best part of four decades. Existentially, no, he’s fine. Physically, however, I believe him to be in some distress. I really do think someone ought to come and have a look at him.”

John got up from his chair and quickly locked his consulting room door. Mrs Beasley's swollen glands could wait another five minutes.

“I see. What are his symptoms, Mr Holmes?” asked the doctor, impassively.

“He’s very hot. Rather sweaty. Swollen. A tad…stressed.”

John tutted very professionally.

“Oh, dear, poor lad. Sounds nasty.”

“Yes, it appears a worrying case. And he was making quite the racket earlier. I don’t know what gets into young people today.”

The doctor chuckled. “I could take a guess.”

The well-spoken man on the phone seemed to ignore this comment, for reasons known only to himself.

“I’ve managed to administer a certain amount of first aid. But it really is a doctor he needs.”

“Best to leave these things to the professionals, sir. I don’t usually do home visits, you know.”

“No, of course. We will compensate you accordingly, naturally, one way or another.”

The man's voice sank to a deeper, gravelly range. John cleared his throat and adjusted himself beneath his desk.

“Could you explain a little more about the home remedies you’ve tried?”

“Certainly. I have taken his temperature.”

“Orally?”

“No.” 

“Ah.”

“I’m afraid the boy is stubborn in his refusal of medical investigation. I had to force him over my lap and administer the anal thermometer. He is running a fever.” 

_Bet he is._

“Oh, dear. Did he struggle?” asked the doctor, sympathetically.

“Oh, yes, he always likes to appear to struggle. He put up quite the fight.”

“And then?” John attempted to stop his voice sounding hoarse.

“Then," said the man, with almost bored nonchalance, "I administered his enema, which he was compliant with. Well, the first one, anyhow. The second, he fussed over.”

“Poor boy.”

“Yes, the little darling. I stroked his hair while he squirmed around and begged to be allowed his release. Which of course he was, eventually. Hygiene is so important, isn't it?”

John leant on his elbow, head in hand, letting that image sink in.

“And have you given him a thorough check over?” 

The man hummed in confirmation.

“As much as I’m able. I don’t have the requisite equipment, really. But I did what I could with my hands alone. Well, with the judicious application of lubricated fingers, which I believe is standard medical practice," he said, with throwaway casualness. "I'm afraid I don't have vinyl gloves. Perhaps you could bring those?"

"Yup," said John, instantly.

"I couldn’t feel anything untoward. Except, perhaps, a little swelling in a most intimate area. A little bump in his...private passage. When pressed it caused rather a dramatic reaction. Is that normal, Doctor?”

“Quite usual, yes. Though perhaps I’d better bring my speculum and have a proper look at him,” said John, hastily rummaging for his kit.

“If you would, Doctor," said the man, greatly relieved.

“Of course. Wouldn’t do to let the poor boy suffer, would it?”

“No. He is moaning rather loudly. Well, he was. It's more muffled now.”

John got up and threw various bits of equipment into his bag, checked the clock and started piling up his paperwork in anticipation of a swift getaway.

“Anything else I ought to know about, Mr Holmes?” he said, holding the phone to his cheek with his shoulder.

The cultured voice turned serious.

“I thought it best to restrain him on his bed, and give him something to bite down on. He was rather frantic. Displaying a worrying disinhibition. Touching himself inappropriately."

"Any fluid discharged?"

"A little, but nothing significant. I've secured the unruly appendage with a silicone device, gave him a dose of some, er, medicine of my own. By mouth, you understand. But I think he may require direct treatment from a medical man with a nice bedside manner.”

“Yes, I understand. I think it might be best if I pop round and look him over immediately. What’s the address, please?”

John heard the smile on the other end of the phone.

“It’s 221B Baker Street, W1. Just go straight up, Doctor.”

“You won’t be at home yourself, sir?”

“Alas, no. I have an appointment with a young human of my acquaintance. She was awoken rather abruptly from a nap by the most awful noise from the next room."

"Oh dear. Often a mistake to attempt anything too strenuous during nap time, Mr Holmes."

"So we've discovered. They never quite work how you think they ought to, these smallish females, do they? I have decided to make it up to her. We shall take the air, and let her poor, overworked father have a bit of quality time to do…whatever there is to be done.”  

“You’re not working today then, Mr Holmes?”

“Perceptive, you medics, aren’t you? No, I found myself in need of a few hours respite. Not entirely selfishly - I believe my absence from Whitehall might hammer home a few key negotiating points about information-sharing protocols. Let the Bulgarians stew in it, say I.”

John smiled fondly. “I’m glad you called. I have two more patients left for the day. Give me an hour?”

“And people have the audacity to criticise the NHS. You’re very kind, Doctor. It’s quite a relief, I must say."

"All in a day's work."

"Indeed. Right. Now I’ve seen to my brother’s needs, I am finally free to seek more mature company. My small companion and I thought London Zoo might be a nice setting for one of our little chats. We both admire penguins enormously and we intend to discuss the delineation of various species over apple juice and rice cakes.”

“That sounds lovely, Mr Holmes. Aren’t you a sweetie?”

“Not habitually. Only for the deserving.”

“Wait… This noisy brother of yours… It’s not an antisocial issue? You haven’t had to call the Police, have you?”

“I tried, but I’m afraid they can’t attend. Some minor incident in Bermondsey. They’ll be home for dinner, so I’m told.”

“Thanks, Myc.”

“How presumptuously casual of you, Doctor Watson.”

“Yeah, we’re an uncouth bunch, us GPs.”

“Enjoy yourself, my dear. Don’t forget your little black bag.”

“Have a lovely afternoon, Mr Holmes. Give my regards to your young companion, there.”

“I shall." The connection did not immediately click off. The man had evidently forgotten to hang up, and the doctor heard his voice from a little distance away:

"Come, now, Miss Watson, your carriage awaits, and these penguins aren’t going to laugh at themselves. Let’s give naughty Uncle Lockie some peace before the nice doctor comes to make it all better, shall we?”


End file.
